


Prior to Future Concerns

by Illegible_Scribble



Series: 31 Days of Frodo/Sam, 2018 [23]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Cuddles, Fluff and Smut, Kinktober 2018, M/M, Mid-Quest, Rivendell, Smoochtober 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 16:20:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16391078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illegible_Scribble/pseuds/Illegible_Scribble
Summary: On the morning preceding the Council of Elrond, Frodo finds himself being woken up by pleasantly insistent kisses.





	Prior to Future Concerns

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this prompt](https://www.pillowfort.io/posts/132744) for Smoochtober 2018, #23: Melt into You Kiss, and [this prompt](https://www.pillowfort.io/posts/112710) for Kinktober, Day #23: Morning Sex.

He could feel a string of gentle touches being woven over his knuckles and across his palm, to progress thereafter up the inside of his forearm. They were soft and loving, with only a hint of impatient teeth protruding at times from the lips delivering the touch. Frodo hummed as he woke, wriggling his fingers and finding his hand against a soft face.

Neither of them spoke, but the kisses continued to his elbow – where they paused, running into a sleeve – at which point fingers could be felt creeping up Frodo's leg, under the hem of the nightgown. “What time is it?” he asked sleepily, draping his free arm over his eyes.

“About dawn or so,” Sam replied, pausing his touches.

“Mm, early for someone to be so randy.” Frodo uncovered one eye to peep at a blushing Sam.

“W-well, if you're wanting to go back to sleep-” Frodo smiled, and Sam stopped abruptly, realizing he was being teased. “ _T'is_ the Council today...” To his disappointment, Frodo recalled they were still in Rivendell, awaiting the Council of Elrond to decide the destiny of the Ring hanging around his neck. It would begin before noon, he remembered, but if it was only dawn, now, as Sam said...

He waved his free hand to dismiss the concerns of the future. “Continue.” he said, moving his legs farther apart to give Sam's wandering hand more room to explore. With these permissions combined, Frodo could feel Sam shifting around on the bed, temporarily abandoning Frodo's kiss-covered arm to have better access up his nightgown, and his hand slid up Frodo's inner thigh. “Dirty dream?” he asked, nudging what he guessed to be Sam's knees with the leg currently being caressed.

“Sommat like that.” Sam's other hand began to push the whole of the nightgown up Frodo's leg. “In me head I saw you as one of the Elf statues round here – all polished marble and suchlike – looking so regal and fair. And, you was naked.” Sam's hands uncovered the briefs Frodo remembered he really didn't need when in bed with Sam.

A snicker tumbled out of Frodo's mouth, as he lifted his hips and legs to assist in the removal of his undergarments. “Was I hard?”

He heard Sam take a breath to speak, and then there was a long pause. “Bloody Baggins and your wordplay,” said Sam, and Frodo laughed again for the gently reprimanding smack he felt against his thigh, “ _aye_ , you _was_ , iffin you meaning 'cause _you were a statue_ , and _made outta stone_. But nay, you wasn't _hard_ , as you might say, like _this_ ,” Frodo stiffened and moaned softly, as Sam squeezed his swollen member, “aye?”

Frodo settled, swallowing thickly as Sam released him. “Aye.” he struggled not to start giggling again, just imagining the indignant look on Sam's face. “But nevertheless it was a handsome statue, hm?”

“Oh, aye,” Sam shifted away for a few moments, and from the rustle of fabric, Frodo supposed he was discarding his own nightclothes, “right fair likeness, but for the eyes. T'was all marble, and so they weren't even a touch blue. Otherwise quite fair, though – handsome, as you said. Got me... thinking, as you might guess, when I woke up.”

“It does seem so, doesn't it?” with an eyebrow raised, he peeped again out from under his arm to look at Sam, who was now kneeling by his side, quite naked, and very hard. The head of his cock was already protruding from the foreskin, and shining wetly. Frodo hummed pleasantly as he hid his eyes again. “At your pleasure, Master Samwise.”

The bed creaked as Sam settled himself between Frodo's legs, and he began to work on the nightgown again. “Mayhap you'll sit up for a minute for your Sam?”

“Of course,” said Frodo, shifting and rising rather sleepily, stretching as Sam lifted the nightgown over his head. The moment before he heard it fall somewhere else – the floor or the bed, it made no matter – Sam's touch overcame all his senses, as Sam cupped each of his cheeks and kissed him deliciously on the mouth. Frodo pulled him down on top of him – slowly, slowly – as they sipped one another's lips, licking and nipping and angling their heads this way and that, until Frodo's head was back on the pillow, and Sam was resting almost completely on top of him. Almost, for he was pointedly bracing himself to keep off of Frodo's left shoulder – the stitches had only come out a few days ago, and Gandalf had warned them still to be careful.

Frodo's fingers raked wonderfully through Sam's hair and massaged his scalp, as Sam for the moment left Frodo's mouth, kissing down a cheek and his neck. As he neared Frodo's collar bone and the chain on which the Ring hung, Frodo flinched, and Sam lifted himself up and away somewhat. “Your shoulder?” he asked tentatively.

Frodo looked troubled, swallowing a lump in his throat. “No, actually,” he glanced down at his own chest, “the- the Ring. Sorry, I- that was silly.” He untangled his right hand from Sam's hair, and shoved the Ring and most of its chain off over his shoulder. “I wish it had passed to someone else.” It was an unsettling thing, for he wanted so much to be rid of it so he could go home, yet also there was something captivating and practically irresistible about it. He quickly looked away from it, and where it lay on the bed sheet next to him, back up to Sam's eyes. They were large and brown, rather like a doe's, and Frodo felt pleased at the thought he could get lost in them. “I'm all right.”

Sam lowered his head so their foreheads touched, and he searched Frodo's face. “Iffin you're sure. We can wait 'til after the-!”

Frodo rolled his hips suddenly, jolting their swollen members together for an electric moment of bliss. “Sam-” he gasped, “we are _not_ waiting.”

Sam – who had yelped and sagged back down on to Frodo at the movement – nodded weakly. “Nay, we ain't.”

Frodo re-tangled his right hand in Sam's hair, guiding Sam's head back down his neck as the kisses resumed. Dutifully, Sam avoided touching the Ring's chain again, but did wander tentatively to the Morgul wound. It was still faintly dark, but much lighter than it had been, before Lord Elrond had removed the final shard. Pale dots could still be seen outlining the incisions, where the stitches had recently been removed. He looked up to Frodo, and asked in a whisper, “May I?” at which Frodo nodded.

The wound was cool against his lips – much cooler than the rest of Frodo – but not nearly so chilled as it had been when the shard was still in it. Frodo was still stroking his hair, and the faint noises he was making didn't seem distressed. Sam pressed several more kisses against and around it, before making an experimental move, and lavishing his tongue over it.

“Ah!” it was far more a squeak than a cry, as Frodo's hands tightened in Sam's hair at the touch. “I- hm... I... like that.” he decided, rubbing Sam's temples with his thumbs, encouraging him to do it again. “It... makes it feel warmer.” As he licked the wound again, Sam hummed with pleasure at finding something new and enjoyable for Frodo. “Thank you.”

Sam placed a kiss on his neck – over his pulse – before he continued his journey downwards, over his chest and a pair of pert nipples, down to his stomach – at which he paused to nuzzle his navel – before sitting back when he reached Frodo's hips, contemplating his shaft.

Frodo raised an eyebrow. “The Council will be starting fairly soon, I'd imagine.”

“Aye-” Sam blushed, and looked over to the nightstand – on which sat their favorite bottle of oil, “-ehm, could I ride you?”

This wasn't a usual request – Sam generally liked it from behind, or for Frodo to do the riding – but Frodo welcomed the uncommon position with a coquettish smile. “Anytime you like.”

At that, they underwent a more dramatic shift in positions, as Sam settled himself to straddle Frodo's chest (still holding most of his own weight), so Frodo would be free to prepare him. A good deal of oil ended up dripping onto Frodo's chest throughout the process, but the expectation of what would soon be joining it, coupled with Sam's whimpers and moans, made it all very worthwhile.

After he was well-stretched, Sam worked his way back down to straddle Frodo's hips, looking back at him shyly. “You sure you're all right?”

Frodo raised his left hand to stroke and then squeeze Sam's sac. “Quite.” he promised.

There was a pause between this affirmation, and Sam settling himself on Frodo, while Sam rocked his hips into Frodo's still-slick hands, which were very obliging to keep rubbing and squeezing him. It took Sam touching Frodo's wrists, and guiding his hands to his hips for a moment, for him to pull himself out of his reverie, and ease down onto Frodo's waiting shaft.

Frodo had missed the tightness and the heat of Sam's body, and how it felt to be up to the hilt inside him. It had been at least three weeks since they'd last done this properly – since Weathertop and the stitches – and dearly had Frodo wanted to see again the carnal pleasure on Sam's face when their bodies started melding into one, and hear his own name again and again on Sam's voice.

Though breakfast was likely to be brought to them soon – before the Council began – they moved slowly, savoring each delicious moment, and finding again their favorite spots and best-loved touches. Frodo took Sam in hand again, gripping him firmly and stroking from root to crown, with occasional paused to circle his thumb over and under the soft head, and rub along his leaking slit.

Sam's moans were hardly coherent – there was the occasional “Frodo!” with the 'o's drawn out to varying lengths – but he was miraculous at squeezing Frodo in kind, where he could. At each instance Frodo was fully inside him, he'd start, clamping himself around Frodo to the point just shy of hurting, and draw him up to near enough his head, before relaxing as he slid back down. After weeks of misery following Weathertop, this was _bliss_.

Frodo spilled moments after he felt the first spatter of Sam's seed landing on his chest, arching up as far as his shaking thighs could lift him, pressing as deeply into Sam as he could. Only sometime later would the thought of embarrassment cross their minds, at how loudly they'd shouted one another's names as the came.

Sam looked blearily down at Frodo's chest as they finished, covered in both oil and seed – a few drops even up to his neck. Still above them, Frodo's face told of exhaustion – but also utter adoration. “I love you,” he rasped between heaves of his chest.

Struggling to be careful, Sam slowly bent down to him, and kissed him long and hard. “Love you too,” he mumbled, nearly into Frodo's mouth between kisses, “more'n' anything.”

Expecting still a breakfast to arrive anytime, Sam slid off of Frodo and grabbed at a towel, and they worked together to dry one another before Sam collapsed on his back at Frodo's side. Eventually, he rolled over to cuddle up against Frodo's left. “Love you.” he said again, nosing the top of Frodo's shoulder.

It wasn't a conscious thought, Frodo moving the Ring from his left to the farthest on his right; it just sort of... happened, and all he'd thought about was Sam. “I love you as well. You remind me of sunlight, you know? So golden and warm.”

Sam's face flushed pink. “Then you must be moon or starlight, all cool and silvery.”

They soon fell quiet, nearly dozing – but for the Ring becoming distinctly present in Frodo's thoughts. “I hope it goes to someone else today.” he said suddenly, echoing his earlier sentiment. “I don't want anything to do with it anymore.” _Is that really true?_ his own thoughts asked him. “I- I want to go home.” he knew that much was true – with such fervor, the thought of heading back on the morrow made him tear up. He no longer had Bag End, but he and Sam had promised to make what home they could of Crickhollow.

Sam sleepily draped an arm over Frodo's chest, and he felt a prickle of anxiety watching where his hand fell, in relation to the Ring. “We'll be getting back. And I'm sure they'll pass it on to someone else; we ain't much like heroes for great Tales, begging your pardon. Good, tilled earth is where we belong, not in gilded armor like a fine Elf-lord, headed off to war.”

Frodo was eerily aware of his heartbeat as they lay together. “Do you think there will be a war?”

Sam cuddled Frodo closer, 'hmm'ing with concern. “Not yet,” he said at last, not all together assured, “not 'til after the Council, anyways.”

Frodo made an indistinct noise, not himself sure if it was of mere acknowledgment or hopeful agreement.

Ultimately, he attempted to distract himself with other thoughts, and told Sam again of what living in Buckland would be like; of how often they'd be able to see all his cousins – both big and little – of the celebrations the Master of Buckland usually threw at Midsummer and Yule, and of all the other wonderful things they'd be able to do, once they were back.

In turn, Sam outlined again his plans for the gardens and possible renovations to make the house into a bit more of a smial, and added his enthusiasm for getting to know Frodo's family better.

They fell asleep dreaming of home, until a handful of Elves entered their room, waking them to dine before the Council was called, to decide the fate of the Ring.


End file.
